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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569038">His face I cannot see, for he keeps forever behind me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia'>psychomachia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Canon-Typical Cannibalism, Getting Together, Literary References &amp; Allusions, M/M, Mystery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:42:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is rebellion of the blackest die to refuse to be murdered, when a competent force appears to murder you."</p><p>Hannibal and Will meet as students in boarding school.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandom 5K 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Halcyon Calm and the Coffin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrandfather/gifts">Elfgrandfather</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Will Graham.”</p><p>It is said as a statement, not as a question, and so Will does not feel obliged to respond. He merely pulls his coat tighter around himself, ignores his chattering teeth, and tries to make out the figure, blurry through snow and wind.</p><p>The flashlight keeps steady on his face, but the figure moves closer, revealing itself to be a fair blond boy in a black coat who peers at Will. There seems to be a slight smile on his face.</p><p>“You have impeccable timing. Twenty minutes after our snowstorm hit. You should have taken up lodging in town and waited it out.”</p><p>Will steps forward, allows himself to be even closer to the boy. “I did not have that choice.”</p><p>“Perhaps not,” the boy allows. “But I am remiss in my manners. Hannibal Lecter at your service,” he says. “I've been sent to collect you.” He holds out his hand. “Let me lead the way.”</p><p>The leather gloved hand beckons and yet Will has a curious sensation that taking it means more than a simple guide in a storm. These feelings of his are always quite strange but never wrong.</p><p>Still...</p><p>He grasps Lecter's hand, and is led in a firm, steady grip through the snow. Even as Will stumbles, even as he loses sight of everything around him, even as the freezing wind blasts them from all directions, Lecter does not falter, only walking forward, steady and calm.</p><p>Will wonders if he could walk forever.</p><p>“I believe you are to be roomed with Richardson and Newland,” Lecter says as they approach a thicket of dark twisted trees that rise towards the sky, shadowy skeletons etched fine on the paper white world. His voice carries over the wind, though it is not a shout. “There are more congenial roommates to be had, but I suspect that none would suit your tastes.”</p><p>Will's eyes, downcast to keep the flakes from pelting them, narrow. “And what do you think my tastes are?”</p><p>There is an amusement in Lecter's voice when he answers. “Solitude.”</p><p>He is right, but Will does not wish to give him any satisfaction of having it confirmed, though he suspects Lecter has already derived his pleasure from the question, not needing the response.</p><p>At last, there are lights in the distance, golden ones, small at first, but growing larger. The wind seems to die down as well, chilling but not quite so fierce.</p><p>“Lecter,” Will says, and the words make him deeply uncomfortable, but they must be said. “I owe you for this. Without you, I might have been completely lost.”</p><p>Lecter smiles and his eyes reflect the same warmth. “Hannibal,” he says. “After all, I think we will be good friends.”</p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dear Alana,</p>
  <p>Well, I'm here. I know you've said that your school was terrible at first, but you got used to it. I don't think I will. Everything here is too loud and intrusive and it's probably an omen that I could have died getting here.</p>
  <p>The head of our house is fine, if you like people that pry into your personal life and suggest that you get involved in school activities. I've told Crawford that I'll think about just so he'll leave me alone.</p>
  <p>I have. No.</p>
  <p>My roommates are fine. Richardson is constantly out doing sports, so he's mercifully absent a great deal of the time until he comes barrelling in, his friends at his heels. I've started keeping a schedule of his games so I can be sure that he won't be there.</p>
  <p>Newland apparently is very popular, as he is always telling me. I'm fairly sure he sneaks off to town on a regular basis, as he comes home reeking of perfume and leaving cheap dirty magazines all over his bed. If he's looking for a response, he'll have to try harder.</p>
  <p>Then there's Hannibal.</p>
  <p>I'm not sure what to say about him.</p>
  <p>I'll write you again,</p>
  <p>Will</p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>“What's up with you and Lecter?”</p><p>Richardson is kicking back on his bed, his mud-caked cleats propped up on the thin gray blankets everyone seems to have and no one likes. He's idly scratching his arms, leaving long red marks down them. “I mean, like are you cousins or some shit?”</p><p>“No way,” Newland chimes in. “Lecter's some sort of prince or count. Graham's as common as they come.” He looks at Will, his green eyes boring into him. His tie's loose around his collar, revealing dark bruises on his neck. “Has to be something more than that?”</p><p>Richardson laughs, a loud obnoxious squawk. “Not everyone wants to get laid, Newland. Have you seen that guy? He doesn't go for anyone. Just ask Barrington.”</p><p>“Barrington?” Will asks, despite himself. “I don't think I--”</p><p>“Gone,” Newland says abruptly. “Made an utter ass of himself pursuing Lecter.”</p><p>“Got his ass shot down,” Richardson sits up abruptly, his feet hitting the floor in a dull thud. “Ran off in shame and tears probably back to his folks. Not like anyone cares.”</p><p>Will does. But that's his problem, not theirs, and he couldn't even begin to explain why.</p><p>It's just—if it has something to do with Hannibal, it's bound to be interesting.</p><p>Everything about Hannibal is.</p><p>“Well, watch out,” Richardson says unexpectedly. “He's not an asshole and as posh as he is, he doesn't lord it over you, but don't think Lecter's going to become your best friend.”</p><p>He rises fully and leaves a trail of dirty footprints on the floor as he walks out, slamming the door behind him.</p><p>“I don't know.”</p><p>Will turns and looks at Newland, who's gazing at him intently, as if he's decided to take his measurement for the first time. He smiles at Will.</p><p>“I think I may have to keep an eye on the two of you.”</p><hr/><p>“No one else calls you Hannibal,” Will remarks as they're walking along one of the paths outside. He's seen Hannibal in brief moments, a glimpse down a hallway, a fleeting movement out of the corner of his eye, but this is the first time he's really been able to talk to him since the snowstorm. It doesn't help that Hannibal is two years ahead of him and they don't share a single class. Which begs the question:</p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>Hannibal still keeps that smile on his face and the sun on his hair makes him even more striking. It's a little unfair, Will thinks, that they can be wearing the exact same uniform, but while Will always feels like he looks crumpled and disheveled by the end of the day, Hannibal wears it perfectly at any given moment. “You're fascinating,” he says.</p><p>“That's not exactly a compliment,” Will responds. “And I'm really not.”</p><p>“Oh, it is and you are,” Hannibal says, and his hand comes up to Will's throat in one sudden movement. Will stops, startled by it and he fights the urge to step back, to run, to show fear. But Hannibal, as perceptive as the first day they met, meets his eyes and lets his hand gently trail down until he reaches the silk of Will's tie, the knot unraveling into disorder. “I think you're possibly the most fascinating person I've ever met.”</p><p>Hannibal's fingers are cool against Will's skin and he's certain he's beet red by now, but Hannibal is touching him so deftly, his fingers smoothing out the tie and then deftly knotting it around Will's neck. All the while, he touches along Will's jugular as if he's taking his pulse, feeling the beat of Will's heart in his hand.</p><p>“You don't even have a roommate,” Will says. It's not an ideal statement, but he needs something, anything to break up this... whatever this is (and he will not admit that he knows exactly what it is). “You talk me to about solitude but you're the one that lives alone.”</p><p>Hannibal nods, acknowledging the point. “Yes.” One last pat to the tie, and he steps away, leaving Will oddly bereft. “Privilege can shelter you far more effectively than any lack of social grace.”</p><p>“So you are some sort of European royalty,” Will says. Hannibal blinks at him, and Will finds himself shifting awkwardly. “Newland said something,” he mutters.</p><p>“Ah.” Hannibal's face betrays nothing, but Will can hear annoyance in his voice. “It is a bit of an exaggeration, but yes.”</p><p>“So then why are you here?” Will asks. “St. Sebastian's is hardly a topnotch school. Shouldn't you be at one of those fancier ones in France or Switzerland?”</p><p>He thinks Hannibal might get angry or annoyed at what was hardly a polite question, but Hannibal doesn't. He just closes his eyes, breathes in, and leaves the two of them in a silence, unbroken by words.</p><p>It's comfortable.</p><p>Eventually, though, he opens his eyes, and looks at Will. His face is fond, amused. “But if I went there,” he asks, “would we ever have met?”</p><p>Will's throat grows tight, and it's not from the tie that's looped around his throat, like a collar.</p><hr/><p>Will knocks his fist once against the door, mainly to test more than out of any belief that someone will hear him and then settles back against the old sofa, prepared to wait out the night until he's let out.</p><p>It is therefore something of a shock, when what has to be only a few minutes later, the door opens and Hannibal steps into the room, peering around with a clear look of distaste on his face.</p><p>“Hannibal,” Will says. “I wasn't expecting you. I thought you had exams to prepare for.”</p><p>“I did,” Hannibal responds and he walks over to Will. “But I was made aware of a situation and I thought it best to deal with it directly.”</p><p>Will's aware that he must look a sight. He doesn't normally care about these things – dirt and bruises and blood are old acquaintances that have kept him company since he was a child. But Hannibal is pristine and well-kempt and just looking at him makes Will feel like the grubby little boy from Louisiana. “You didn't have to come,” he says quietly. “I can handle it.”</p><p>“You shouldn't have to.” Hannibal pulls him to his feet, his arm surprisingly strong under Will's. “Not alone.”</p><p>“I'm always alone,” Will murmurs.</p><p>“No, you're not.” Hannibal keeps a hold of him, walking up the stairs until he opens the door and the cool night air hits Will in the face. It's a relief from the mustiness of the basement and he breathes it in deeply. “I'm right here with you.”</p><p>They walk across the quiet campus, Hannibal always knowing when they're about to come across a patrolling teacher. He expertly hides them in darkened corners, waiting patiently until he's judged the danger has passed. Will becomes increasingly aware of Hannibal's heat against him, pressing into him. His own breath sounds loud against his ears.</p><p>It's a huge relief when they finally make it back inside one of the residence halls. Will hasn't questioned Hannibal the entire time, but it's impossible not to at this point. “That's not my--?”</p><p>“I thought it best if we return to my room. Your roommates would cause a stir if I were to drop you off. And in any event, I have a private washroom where you may clean up.”</p><p>Hannibal opens up one of the wooden doors at the end of the hallway.</p><p>Will's not certain what to expect. Rumors of course have persisted that he must have some sort of very elegant, fancy room. “I bet there's marble floors and gold doorknobs,” Newland said. “He probably has some sort of throne he made the school put in his room.”</p><p>There is no throne. It's actually a lot like Will's, minus the scattered mess. Everything is carefully arranged, a large bookshelf taking up a good section of the room. There are some drawings on the wall that turn out to be anatomical studies when Will peers closely at them.</p><p>Hannibal ushers Will past his bed, neatly made, and opens up a side door to a small, but clean washroom. There's a bathtub already filled with water, and it's still hot when Will touches it. Hannibal must have prepared it right before he came to find Will.</p><p>“I thought rooms like these were reserved for the head boys,” Will says, and then something crosses his mind. “You could have been one, couldn't you? They wanted you to be one.”</p><p>“Yes,” Hannibal says and when Will hesitates upon taking off his jacket, he starts assisting him, patiently peeling it off Will's shoulders. His hands graze a few sore spots and Will tries not to react. “But I turned them down.”</p><p>“Right.” Will's aware that Hannibal's now taking off his shirt, exposing his bony chest. It can't be a pretty sight, all pale skin dotted with bruises, but Hannibal does nothing more than turn a clinical eye towards them. Doctor, Will thinks. He's going to be one. “I can't see anyone making you do something you don't want to do.”</p><p>“In that, we are the same.” Hannibal does mercifully start backing away when it comes time to taking off Will's pants, and he carefully closes the door behind him just as Will reaches for his belt. The rest of his clothes drop to the floor in a pile and Will eases himself into the bath.</p><p>It's perfectly warm, not too hot or cold, and Will wonders how Hannibal managed to time that too.</p><p>He's in the bathtub for a few minutes when there's a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Will says quietly.</p><p>Hannibal opens the door and picks Will's clothes up off the floor, setting a set of navy blue folded pajamas neatly on the basin. “Change into these,” he says. “I don't think you need any bandages.”</p><p>“Right,” Will says, consciously aware of his nudity and Hannibal's all-seeing eyes. It should disturb him<br/>more than it does, but somehow he's grown used to feeling exposed around Hannibal.</p><p>The door shuts again.</p><p>Will bathes quickly, dries himself off, and changes into the pajamas. They're soft and clean, brushed cotton that's far nicer than the scratchy wool ones he has.</p><p>He opens the door and Hannibal's already in bed, reading a book. He nods at seeing Will.</p><p>“Are we going to--” and Will stops. It's a stupid question. Of course they are.</p><p>He gets into the bed. Hannibal's against the wall, but they're still pressed together and he can feel Hannibal's warmth against him.</p><p>“Turn off the light, Will,” Hannibal says.</p><p>He does.</p><p>It should be harder to fall asleep, knowing how close he is to Hannibal, how one move could be taken the wrong way. He could offend Hannibal somehow. Hannibal, who's scrupulously polite but never lets people into his room. Hannibal, who's well-liked and completely unknown.</p><p>Hannibal.</p><p>He falls asleep.</p><hr/><p>"In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself astray in a dark wood where the straight road had been lost sight of."</p><p>“That seems a bit cliché for you,” Will says. It's not as blinding as the first time they met, the snow almost suspended in the air. There's a faint bit of music in the distance, like a violin singing a sweet sad song. “I'm actually familiar with it.”</p><p>Hannibal seems amused by the snow, plucking a flake out of the air to examine it. “It's your dream, Will. If you want something more obscure, you'll have to give me more material.”</p><p>“Perish the thought.” Will snorts. “You already take up enough residence in my brain. I don't need you rummaging through even more of it.”</p><p>“If it helps,” Hannibal says softly, “you are always welcome to mine.” His breath is hot in Will's ear, because nothing has to make sense in this world and Hannibal having the ability to teleport is surprisingly logical. “You may rearrange to your heart's content.”</p><p>The snow is coming quicker now and the violin is no longer a low lament, but a shrieking threnody, a string in the wind that cuts to the bone as much as the truths that Will knows. “Don't give me that power,” Will says. “You don't know what I'll do with it.”</p><p>Hannibal's lips encircle Will's ear, nip gently. “Of course I know. Why else would I do it?”</p><hr/><p>“Will,” a voice says softly. “Will.” It's no longer close, a distant remind of a far more intimate dream. It's strangely disappointing.</p><p>Will opens his eyes. Hannibal's standing above him, already dressed. His face is concerned.</p><p>“Your roommate never came home last night.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. That ran before us in malice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You didn't see him at all?” Crawford sounds frustrated, but Will understands why. Two out of three roommates go missing from their room and only one returns? It's a shady story.</p>
<p>“Like Graham told you,” Hannibal says, “He was locked in that basement for god knows how long. Really, Crawford, you're the one who should have noticed that two from your house weren't there.”</p>
<p>Crawford glares. “I don't understand why you're involved,” he says. “I was just asking Graham questions.”</p>
<p>Hannibal's calm. “And I was helping him answer them. I was the one who can attest that he have no involvement with Newland's disappearance, as he was too busy being hazed. But I'm sure the head of house has no problems with that kind of absence.”</p>
<p>Will watches Crawford visually decide whether it's worth arguing with Hannibal, then sees his shoulders slump. Evidently not. “Listen, Lecter, you know what good complaining about that does. We've tried to get a handle on it.”</p>
<p>“In any event,” Hannibal continues, “I believe it's clear that neither one of us has anything more to say about this situation. Consult his friends. Perhaps he ran off with some girl in town.”</p>
<p>Crawford looks defeated. “Fine,” he says. “But Graham,” and Will looks back at him as Hannibal guides him out the door, one hand on his back, “you know how rumors start. For your sake, you'd better hope he comes back soon.”</p>
<p>The door shuts behind them.</p>
<p>“He's just worried,” Will says. “You know he's a good guy.”</p>
<p>“I do know that,” Hannibal agrees. “But I also know that Crawford has a habit of roping people into helping him out, whether or not it's actually good for them. Don't fall for it.”</p>
<p>“You sound like you know him pretty well.</p>
<p>Hannibal smiles. “We go way back.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Back in Will's room, Newland's bed is still made. It's not as neat as Hannibal's, but it's clear no one's going near it.</p>
<p>Perhaps Newland is just hanging out in town or got into a spot of trouble with a potential conquest.</p>
<p>Will closes his eyes.</p>
<p>He pictures it. Newland comes in. Both of his roommates are gone, so he's got the place to himself. But it doesn't matter. He's not staying there. Not for long.</p>
<p>He goes to his closet, rummages through it. It's mostly the same as everyone else's – white shirts, black blazers, neatly polished shoes. But he keeps other things in there too. He hides them so no one else can see.</p>
<p>Normally, he can find what he's looking for. But he's in a rush. He has to get out quickly. He's frustrated, so he bolts before he gets it. He'll just have to do without it tonight.</p>
<p>Will opens his eyes, goes to the closet.</p>
<p>Living with Richardson means things are out of place, but he knows how what to expect there. What he's looking for is the out of place that's new.</p>
<p>He finds it in the back of the closet. There's a loose board that's protruding now, almost fully pulled out. He looks behind it. Nothing.</p>
<p>And then he spots a glint of gold in the dim sunlight. A chain's slipped through the floorboard. If someone was in a hurry and it was late at night, they might not be able to see it.</p>
<p>Will carefully pulls it up, slides it through the wider than usual crack in the board. Luckily, it caught on a nail instead of slipping through, landing god knows where.</p>
<p>A medallion, Will sees.</p>
<p>St. Sebastian. Not surprising, but the inscription on the back is.</p>
<p>Et responsum est ab omnibus—Non est inventus.</p>
<p>The door handle rattles and Will looks up, slipping the medallion into his pocket. He quickly shuts the door, makes his way to his bed. He's sitting on it when the door finally opens.</p>
<p>Richardson enters the room. “Graham,” he says. “Crawford asked you about Newland, too?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Will says. “But I haven't seen him.</p>
<p>Richardson snorts. “Neither have I. I don't know why everyone's panicking. You know Newland. Probably off fucking some townie.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Will says. “But he usually comes back.”</p>
<p>“Whatever.” Richardson flops down on his bed. “He's a weirdo.” He gives a side glance to Will. “Not like you, Graham. You're just a normal weirdo. Newland's something else.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” But Will has an idea.</p>
<p>“There's something not quite right about him.”</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dear Alana,</p>
  <p>You'll be pleased to know that we have at the very least, a disappearance and at the greatest, a murder. I think you said the most exciting thing to occur at your school was your roommate punching her brother in the face for calling her a pig on family day.</p>
  <p>Crawford keeps hinting that he could use someone to help him out with Newland. I think he's hoping that since I have a distinct lack of friends or connections, I will not be compelled to hide amount of inconvenient truths I might find out.</p>
  <p>Hannibal doesn't suggest that I don't get myself involved in Newland's disappearance, only that I do so on my own. I have not been able to figure out his exact relationship with Crawford, only that the two seem to annoy and respect each other in equal measure.</p>
  <p>I promise I'll keep myself safe. At least I have someone to watch my back.</p>
  <p>Please write back. I miss your letters.</p>
  <p>Will</p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>“Graham!”</p>
<p>Apparently, ducking Crawford is not in the cards today, and Will steels himself. He's not a bad person and the worst thing anyone can say about him is that he's a little too enthusiastic about trying to make sure everything runs smooth in his house. Disappearances in the middle of the night probably rate his highest alert level.</p>
<p>“Crawford,” Will responds, turning and not trying to hide his irritation. “I was just on my way--”</p>
<p>“To see Lecter,” Crawford says. “I know warning either one of you is futile. You just ignore me and then proceed to do whatever you want, and Lecter--” He lets out a long sigh. “He'll smile at me first.”</p>
<p>“He told me you go way back,” Will says mildly. “Old friends?”</p>
<p>“Rivals, more like.” Crawford lets out an oddly fond smile and Will finds himself reluctantly smiling back. “He was my top competition for head of house.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Will can't picture it. Hannibal, patiently listening to people's quarrels? Sure. Taking care of academic disputes? Yes. Cleaning the third floor hallway in the middle of the night because someone didn't store the meat properly and now half the floor has food poisoning?</p>
<p>It just seems... wrong.</p>
<p>“I can't see it,” he eventually says. “It seems too public.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” Crawford's smile fades and his usual serious demeanor returns. “He would have been a shoo-in if he wanted it, but he withdrew his name from consideration and I have no idea why.”</p>
<p>Will says nothing, only inclines his head.</p>
<p>“See, he's my friend, Graham,” Crawford says, “and he's obviously fond of you, but we're never going to understand him. Not completely.”</p>
<p>I don't hate Crawford, Hannibal said to him, last night. He's diligent and practical, yet he writes remarkably romantic letters to his long-distance girlfriend. He's popular, top in sports, and firmly believes in justice and fair play.</p>
<p>So that's why you don't like him, Will answered, and Hannibal's teeth gleamed white in amused agreement.</p>
<p>“Are you done?” Will retorts. It hasn't been a conversation so much as a mutual interrogation, both of them trying to feel out each other's knowledge of Lecter.</p>
<p>Will thinks he knows who'd win this competition.</p>
<p>“I like you, Graham,” Crawford says, placing a hand on Will's shoulder. “But I think you're hiding something from me.”</p>
<p>The medallion is cool in his pocket and he knows what Crawford would do with it, if he had the chance. Round up the school, talk to the usual miscreants, inform the administration.</p>
<p>That's not the way this is going to go.</p>
<p>“I'm sorry.” Will shrugs Crawford's arm off. “If you need to find me, you know where I'll be.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“And the answer from all – he has not been found.” Hannibal peers at the medallion curiously. “Well, our friend has a literary bent.”</p>
<p>“You recognize it,” Will says. “Of course.”</p>
<p>“Thomas DeQuincey,” Hannibal says. “Murder, Considered as One of the Fine Arts. A rather florid justification of the merits of proper homicide.”</p>
<p>“I should be more alarmed that you can immediately identify this,” Will responds, “but the fact is that I know you. I should think you would recognize any particular bit of Latin doggerel I lay before you.”</p>
<p>Hannibal lays his head on Will's shoulder. As the days passed and Newland remained missing, Will noticed an increasing intimacy from him. His touches on the shoulder lingered. He was more prone to take Will's hand.</p>
<p>He found more and more ways to inspect every bit of Will's clothing, until there didn't seem to be a single inch of Will that hadn't had Hannibal's fingers adroitly adjusting it.</p>
<p>Well, one, Will thinks. But those have been saved for dreams so far.</p>
<p>“I am surprised you came to me first rather than Crawford. I would think this is exactly the type of thing he is looking for.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Will says. “Which means I'm not entirely sure I want to show him it until I know what it means, not what he thinks it means.”</p>
<p>“You should be careful, Will.” Hannibal's voice turns low, and his eyes meet Will's. It's so close, a breath between them. Will licks his lips, watches Hannibal follow them. “Don't let yourself become Crawford's bait.”</p>
<p>Will swallows and then leans forward. There is no reason to delay this, he thinks. Not when he and Hannibal understand each other this well, know exactly why Will has not returned to his room, has continued to share Hannibal's bed, has...</p>
<p>He kisses Hannibal, wonders only for a second if he has made a mistake. For all of his sometimes surprising insight into human behavior, trying to understand something like this seems as foreign as Hannibal's far-off home.</p>
<p>Hannibal doesn't let him escape, though. He kisses back, takes Will's chin firmly with a smooth hand and deepens the kiss. It is as patient and firm as everything he does, as though he were merely waiting for Will to come to the same conclusion he reached a long time ago.</p>
<p>It's Hannibal. Of course, he's been steps ahead.</p>
<p>They stop eventually, both flushed and panting. It's not perfect, but no doubt, Hannibal will make them practice until they improve.</p>
<p>“I'll be fine,” Will says softly. “No one makes me do anything I don't already want to do.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>He does have to return to his room. Granted, many of his belongings have made their way into Hannibal's room, but Crawford does have a point. Rumors do start.</p>
<p>Will opens the door, steps inside and reaches to turn on the light.</p>
<p>Nothing goes on.</p>
<p>Already, he knows made a horrible mistake.</p>
<p>The closet is open, the window too, blowing in a light cool breeze. Will takes a step back.</p>
<p>The door shuts behind him and there's a figure on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He's angry, rough, and he wraps his hands around Will's neck.</p>
<p>Will lashes out, claws at the hands, thick and strong. He reaches his arms out, tries to look for something, anything to make it move. He can't scream, the hands choking out his breath.</p>
<p>It's too much, his throat wheezing and spots before his eyes--</p>
<p>Will's hand connects with something heavy, metal, and he swings at where he thinks the figure's head is.</p>
<p>He connects.</p>
<p>The figure crumples on top of him, and Will passes out to the sight of a crack of light getting wider as the door behind him opens.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Oh, sweep away, Angel, with Angelic Scorn, the Dogs that come with Curious Eyes to gaze.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It was Richardson,” Will says.</p><p>It still hurts to talk and his throat is one big mass of bruises behind the white bandages wrapped around it.</p><p>“Yes,” Hannibal says. “He died before anyone could talk to him.”</p><p>Will closes his eyes, remembers the strike as he hit flesh and bone, the object smashing into something solid. “Did I?”</p><p>Hannibal grips his hand tighter, presses it comfortingly. “No,” he answers. “You did hit him, but he died from whatever he took that was still in his system.”</p><p>“Drugs.” Will frowns. “It doesn't make sense.”</p><p>Hannibal eyes him carefully. “It doesn't,” he agrees. “But it's a good answer for the school. They're assuming that Newland found out about Richardson's habit and so Richardson killed him. Then he tried to kill you thinking that you had found out as well.”</p><p>It's not right, Will knows. That's not the answer. “I remember the door opening at the end? Was that?”</p><p>“I was worried about you, Will,” Hannibal says. “I went to check up on you.” He smiles lopsidedly. “I suppose I thought I might have to save you. But in the end, you were able to defend yourself.”</p><p>“With what?” Will asks curiously.</p><p>“Apparently, a metal doorstop.” Hannibal sounds almost proud.</p><p>Will leans back against the pillows, his head still pounding. “This isn't over,” he says. “You know that, right?”</p><p>“The medallion.” Hannibal nods. “I held on to it for you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Will says. “But I don't want you getting into danger as well.”</p><p>Hannibal leans over and kisses Will on the forehead. “Dear Will,” he murmurs, “don't worry. I'll look after myself.”</p><hr/><p>He's released from the infirmary a few days later. Crawford eyes him over and then surprisingly hugs him.</p><p>“Sorry, Graham,” he says. “I should have been looking after you more. To think that Richardson--” He stops, looking sheepish. “I made a mistake.”</p><p>“It's all right,” Will reassures him. “None of us knew.”</p><p>“I just wish we would have figured out where Newland is,” Crawford says. “The school's notified his family, but they can't give them closure on it.”</p><p>Because they won't get closure, Will thinks. Not when Newland is still alive.</p><p>“I'm going over to Lecter's,” Will says. “Unless my room has been freed up.”</p><p>Crawford grimaces. “Much as I would love to tell you yes, it's not. It's still a crime scene.”</p><p>Will's statement to the local police had been mercifully brief. No, he hadn't seen anything before he was attacked. No, he had no idea why Richardson went after him.</p><p>No, he was clearly not going to tell them the entire truth because he wasn't even sure he knew yet.</p><p>Hannibal meets up with him as he walks down the hall, sliding next to him as if he had calculated the exact time when Will would show up. Which he probably had. “You didn't tell Crawford or the police,” he says. His hand brushes casually against Will's, a slight touch that could be disregarded by any observer as accidental.</p><p>“I have no proof,” Will says. He brushes back. “And they'd assume I was just a hysterical boy, too busy jumping at shadows because of my near murder. No, this explanation is logical and sound, which is why it's completely wrong.”</p><p>Hannibal smiles slightly. “You never cease to fascinate me, Will. Your empathy truly is a marvelous thing.”</p><p>“You try having it,” Will mutters. “And then tell me how much fun you have with it.”</p><p>“Oh, I don't need it,” Hannibal agrees. “Not when I have you.”</p><p>Will bumps his shoulder and Hannibal leans into it.</p><p>Embarrassingly, his stomach chooses that instant to rumble and Hannibal raises his eyebrows inquisitively.</p><p>Will flushes. “Look, I was stuck eating gelatin and oatmeal for two days,” he says. “I'm hungry.”</p><p>“I thought you might be,” Hannibal responds. “We'll eat in my room.”</p><p>“But--” and Will subsides. Whatever Hannibal is up to, there's no point in arguing.</p><p>And sure enough, when Hannibal opens up his door, there's a tray with covered dishes on his desk. “I'm going to assume that's not from the kitchens here,” Will says.</p><p>“It is,” Hannibal demurs, “but not from the cooks.”</p><p>Will stares at him flatly. “You made this.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“They let you use the kitchen.”</p><p>Hannibal's look is positively smug. “In exchange for a taste of their own.”</p><p>Will shakes his head. “I don't want to know how you keep convincing people to let you break the rules.”</p><p>Hannibal leans in and noses at Will's neck. “Haven't you learned, Will? I don't break the rules. I redesign them.”</p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dear Alana,</p>
  <p>I don't even know what to say anymore.</p>
  <p>It's not that it matters. I haven't gotten any response from you and I'm sure it's not because you've decided to ignore my letters.</p>
  <p>You aren't getting them at all.</p>
  <p>So to whomever's intercepting these letters, knock yourself out.</p>
  <p>You won't find out anything new about me.</p>
  <p>Will</p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>Hannibal's hands are elegant, but they're not the delicate things that everyone thinks they are. They're firm, a bit rough in parts, with calluses.</p><p>They're gentle, but they're not soft.</p><p>“Cooking?” Will asks, his head resting on Hannibal's chest. “I would have expected more burns then.”</p><p>“Only if you don't pay attention,” Hannibal says, stroking his hand through Will's hair. “And I'm very careful.”</p><p>“Not all the time,” Will mutters, and is rewarded with a quick pull of his hair. “You just like to pretend you don't take risks.”</p><p>“Yet they lead to my greatest rewards.” Hannibal tips Will's head up, kissing him on the forehead. “I will never regret anything that led to you.”</p><p>“You really are a sweet-talker,” Will says and twists upwards until he's facing Hannibal. If they're going to do this, he wants to be on equal ground. “I just wonder sometimes if you're telling me the truth.”</p><p>Hannibal's face stills, a smooth mask replacing the warmth that was there a second ago. It's fine, Will thinks. I prepared for that.</p><p>“What brings on this mistrust?” Hannibal asks. His hair is tousled, he's shirtless, and it's very hard for Will to think of the Lecter that is a beautiful, polite sculpture of snow and ice when he's just seen the real thing, flushed and out of breath and so very eager for Will's touch. “If Crawford or someone else implied--”</p><p>Will puts his hand on Hannibal's cheek, and he feels the fine cheekbones, the smooth skin, the beauty that is all his, no one else's and he wonders what he has done to deserve it.</p><p>Or what he might do. “I know you don't tell me everything, Hannibal,” Will says. “I'm fine with that. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”</p><p>Hannibal says nothing, but Will feels the slight tremor beneath his hand. A god brought low to mortals, Will thinks. A statue embraced into existence.</p><p>“Just don't lie to me,” Will adds. “And I won't lie to you.”</p><p>Hannibal reaches up one hand, takes Will's hand off his cheek and brings it to his mouth. He holds it gently between his lips, resting his teeth so they don't break the skin, but hover above, imprinting Will's flesh with breath and the faintest ghost of a mark.</p><p>Blood, Will thinks. That will be inevitable before long.</p><p>This is not the first time he's had that thought.</p><p>Hannibal gently releases his hand, and Will drops it, as he lets go of himself at the same time, falling back onto Hannibal's chest and letting Hannibal's hands soothe themselves in Will's hair.</p><p>It's a peaceful silence and Will won't be the one to break it first.</p><p>Hannibal's voice is low and quiet.</p><p>“I had a sister,” he says.</p><hr/><p>They finally let Will back into his room and he reluctantly returns. Hannibal would let him stay with him, as he says, “forever,” but Crawford is a little antsy about their possible relationship and how do I explain that to the school, Will? If they find out you've engaged in--</p><p>It's not worth the argument.</p><p>At least he finally has a room to himself, he thinks, and surprises himself with a short, dry laugh out loud.</p><p>The room smells like bleach, an antispetic odor to hide the heady scent of blood from earlier.</p><p>“Newland,” he says. “What were you doing.”</p><p>He pulls out the DeQuincey book that Hannibal's leant him, thumbs through it. Pages of dense writing fill it and Will doesn't fight the urge to roll his eyes.</p><p>Hannibal summing it up as florid is very much a case of the kettle calling out the pot.</p><p>Will finds the relevant essay, skims it.</p><p>The world in general, gentlemen, are very bloody-minded; and all they want in a murder is a copious effusion of blood; gaudy display in this point is enough for them. But the enlightened connoisseur is more refined in his taste; and from our art, as from all the other liberal arts when thoroughly cultivated, the result is—to improve and to humanize the heart;</p><p>He closes his eyes.</p><p>Newland sees this essay, perhaps for a literature assignment or while searching for work to debate. He comes across it and it speaks to him, tells him how the world should work.</p><p>He has a medal. Perhaps, he engraves it in town. The local jeweler sees nothing strange, probably thinks the phrase to be some highminded religious nonsense from one of those aristocrats. As long as they pay him..</p><p>So Newland resolves to lose himself and then to murder. He will create a work of art. He looks for the right victim and alights upon Richardson.</p><p>But Richardson is too volatile, too angry, and he must be drugged while Newland works out the best tableau for his victim. He underestimates Richardson, however, and the boy escapes, stumbling by memory back to the one place he knows is safe.</p><p>Except that it's not. Except that there's someone coming in and it must be his attacker. Richardson tries to kill him. He fails.</p><p>And Newland is left with no one. Nothing. No victim, no perfect crime, no elevation of his art.</p><p>So what would he do next?</p><p>Who would he pick?</p><p>Will? But no, Will is unsuitable. He's recovering from injury, he's well-known as a victim, he's--</p><p>No. Not Will.</p><p>The right victim would be someone that would be aesthetically pleasing, a man of high nobility and beauty. He would be a man whose death would be both deeply upsetting and beautiful. Something worthy.</p><p>He would be..</p><p>Will opens his eyes.</p><p>“Hannibal,” he says, and hears a noise from behind him. </p><p>The room isn't quite empty.</p><p>Hannibal is gone.</p><p>But there is someone else still there.</p><p>“It's good to see you again, Graham.” Newland motions with his knife. “Now if you wouldn't mind moving along. I do need an audience.”</p><hr/><p>Even strung up and bleeding, Hannibal retains an annoying amount of dignity and composure. “Will,” he says. “I knew you would figure it out.”</p><p>“Don't tell me you guessed it too, Hannibal.”</p><p>Hannibal doesn't answer, but his smirk speaks volumes.</p><p>Newland looks irritated. “Stop it,” he snaps. “I didn't bring you here to flirt.”</p><p>“Ah, my mistake,” Hannibal says. “But you did invite Will to your grand display. It's hardly a shocking conclusion.”</p><p>“He's here to watch you die,” Newland responds. “He'll mourn for you, he'll grieve, and then I'll kill him too. The death of two lovers, one an innocent, the other a good man. What could be more aesthetically pleasing than that?”</p><p>Will sighs and Newland snaps his attention back to him. “What?” he says. “What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“I believe dear Will has figured out the problem with your plan.” Hannibal's smirk has turned into an open grin, his teeth blood-stained. “Now, terror there may be, but how can there be any pity for one tiger destroyed by another tiger?”</p><p>Newland looks confused. “What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“He means that your murder plan means nothing. A murderer who kills another murderer isn't doing something special. He's not 'cleansing the heart of terror and pity.'”</p><p>“You're not a murderer, Graham.” Newland looks hesitant, though.</p><p>“I am, aren't I,” Will says, looking at Hannibal. “The drugs didn't kill Richardson. I did.”</p><p>“Yes,” Hannibal says softly. “Quite effectively.”</p><p>“That doesn't matter,” Newland snarls. “Self-defense. And even if you don't count, Hannibal--”</p><p>Will looks at Hannibal, sees what's really lurking behind his eyes. The tiger that prowls, wanting to come out and claim his prey. It's stupid to think that he was ever anything but this. “Did he smile his work to see?” Will says softly.</p><p>Hannibal nods. “We were both forged by the same hand, Will.”</p><p>Newland looks back and forth between them, realization dawning on his face. “No,” he shouts. “I don't—this isn't the way it should go.”</p><p>Maybe Richardson did have incredible amounts of strength to break all those knots and escape from Newland. Maybe Hannibal is much stronger than he appears.</p><p>Or maybe Newland is just very bad at tying knots.</p><p>Whatever the case, Hannibal snaps them like they were string and launches himself across at Newland, taking him down to the floor. The knife knocks loose and Will picks it up.</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Yes,” Hannibal says and the hunt is on.</p><hr/><p>“So damn lucky,” Crawford says. “You could have both been killed.”</p><p>“Newland threatened Will's life,” Hannibal says, lying on the hospital bed. He has a black eye and several deep cuts to his arms, but otherwise, he'll be released soon. “I couldn't let him be harmed.”</p><p>“And then Newland went and kidnapped Graham anyway.” Crawford shakes his head. “The police told me that you both fought tooth and nail against him.”</p><p>“As you said,” Will replies, taking Hannibal's hand, “we were both very lucky.”</p><p>“Well, the school's not.” Crawford gets up from the chair, dusting off his pants. “I don't know how they're going to explain this to parents on family day.”</p><p>“Not my problem,” Will says. “I think Hannibal and I just want to get some rest.”</p><p>Crawford puts his hand on Will's shoulder, squeezing it. “You've earned it, Will. You too, Hannibal.”</p><p>“Thank you, Jack,” Hannibal says and there's a smile on Jack's face as he leaves the room.</p><p>“I think you just made his day,” Will says, as Hannibal opens up the blanket and Will climbs in. "You know, neither one of you have really told me anything about how you two became friends.”</p><p>“It's nothing interesting.” Hannibal leans his head against Will's. “Certainly nothing to match this day.”</p><p>“You knew before you opened the door that I was going to kill Richardson, didn't you,” Will says quietly. “You planned on it.”</p><p>“I know you, Will.” Hannibal moves his hand down until it rests over Will's heart. “How did you find it?”</p><p>“Awful and brutal and terrible.</p><p>“And Newland?”</p><p>“Beautiful.”</p><hr/><p>As much as Will has made himself become accustomed to talking to people for more than a few minutes, it's still a relief when they can shut the door and it's just the two of them, alone, with no distractions or annoyances</p><p>“I like Alana,” Hannibal says. “I'm surprised she came to see us.”</p><p>“So am I.” Will takes off his tie, and breathes a sigh of relief. “Given that you were hiding my letters to her the entire time.”</p><p>“I didn't say I trusted her,” Hannibal replies mildly. “I couldn't have her talking you out of something, should you decide to confer with her. And besides, I wanted to have all of you. Every piece.”</p><p>“Did you learn anything new about me?” Will says, straddling Hannibal, who allows himself to be pushed down on the bed. “You didn't have any of my family to question today.”</p><p>“Nor did you.” Hannibal reaches up, lets his hand run through Will's hair. “Although I would love to introduce you to my aunt and uncle.”</p><p>“You didn't answer the question, Hannibal.” Will thinks about biting Hannibal's neck, and doesn't resist the impulse. Hannibal's smile upon finding blood on his neck the first time was answer enough as to how well he enjoyed it.</p><p>“I learned that I need to keep on my toes with you,” Hannibal says. “And that your cuisine might be broader than you suspect.” He gestures to his neck as evidence.</p><p>“I should have guessed,” Will snorts. “Making drisheen for me the first time?”</p><p>“The way to a man's heart--”</p><p>“Is by killing another man,” Will finishes. He takes Hannibal's mouth into his own, and knows that he tastes not just Hannibal, but himself, a reciprocation of the body that finds it home in each other. They blur into each other, mix until the ingredients are inseparable and what is produced is something that is uniquely theirs.</p><p>Hannibal says he's coming quite nicely along in his culinary endeavors.</p><p>Will breaks the kiss and smiles as a wicked little thought pops into his brain. "You should be careful, though," he says. "What if someone else gets that same idea? You know that young Mr. Brown seemed awfully intent on impressing me. Should I run away--"</p><p>Hannibal's mouth stops his, a vicious kiss that claims him and refuses to let up until they both concede mutual defeat as well as a need to breathe. "Just remember, Will," Hannibal says and it's a promise, not a threat like he might he have taken it at one time. "We will always find each other."</p>
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